But why, after all, are they crying?

We all need a new face of God to worship, and this face, I am increasingly convinced, can only appear to us through and beyond an "ultra-human." --Teilhard de Chardin

I

“That’s the reason!” exclaims Jagannath Mishra.

He is seated on the bank of the Ganges, under the still-burning sun, his eyes fixed on an invisible point somewhere in the distance, perhaps on the other shore where palm trees and abundant vegetation, suspended between the eternal sky and the celestial current, invite one to delve into the mystery of the place. His face is smeared with dried mud, where tears have traced delicate paths. His wife, Sachidevi, sits beside him. She is crying too. She cries because he is crying…

Emotional contagion? Shared sorrow? She belongs to that category of women for whom the husband is everything. Since the day of her marriage, nine years ago, the world exists only through his eyes; she lives only by him and for him. He is her god. If he were to die, she would not survive him—life would become unbearable, a burning inferno. The affinities that bind them make her attuned to his slightest moods, to his most trivial desires. She has no independent existence, so much so that the expression "his better half" takes on its full meaning with her.

Born into an aristocratic family, her chastity, obedience, and simplicity form a diadem from which admirable virtues radiate: she is endowed with unshakable mental strength and patience, her youthful grace reveals a liberated spirit, and her dark-eyed gaze reflects a reserved intelligence capable of perceiving the soul’s subtlest stirrings and confronting irrational thoughts at their very inception. She takes advantage of her condition as a woman to discover her identity, transform herself, and soar toward freedom.

When her husband cried out, “That’s the reason!” a thousand words, a thousand images arose in her mind. But what do we say here? An infinity of figures, landscapes, memories, dreams, and the shimmering of a nearly inexpressible spiritual reality passed before her in less than an instant. In an outburst of her heart, a whirlwind of emotions swelled within her, stung her eyes, and spilled over in a torrent of tears. The fabric of her sari clung to her chest, soaked through with tears. 

But why, after all, are they crying?

Earlier, Jagannath had caught sight of two men quarreling. No, not at all! It was a striking woman chastising a priest. At first, he had mistaken her for a prostitute, so overtly did she flaunt her femininity. Her lips, painted too red, glistened with betel juice, lending her an air of arrogance and sensuality. Her dark, kohl-lined eyes were framed by meticulously plucked and drawn eyebrows. Her arms were adorned with glass bangles that clinked with every movement, and a brightly colored sari draped her alluring figure.

The dazzling illusion had lasted only a few moments: the hoarse voice, returning briefly to its natural tone, betrayed the eunuch. Since ancient times, India has acknowledged the ambiguous nature of these castrated individuals, who belong to mysterious and powerful societies. Families call upon their services for ceremonies, believing their presence and blessings to be auspicious. Armed with this cultural privilege, the eunuch boldly confronted the priest, accusing him —out of envy— of extorting money from the guests.

With the sharp tongue of a brazen woman, the eunuch ridiculed the priest, exposing the mediocrity of his faith: 

“Where does this confidence come from —that you are the representatives of a God? Come now! Stop mocking us and, instead of your moralizing speeches, engage your mind, use that gray matter of yours. What makes you so certain of the existence of God? Do you think He is listening to your prayers? Pffft! Guides of men… You’re nothing but cheats, just as I am, only you’ve chosen religion to satisfy your greed. And you —you're nothing more than a self-righteous bigot. Well then, answer me: what makes you so sure of the existence of God? Does He speak to you sometimes? Does He reveal to you some secrets in your dreams?”

The brahmana had stammered a reply, but Jagannath had already walked away. He came from a family whose patriarch, Upendra Mishra, was a devoted servant of Lord Vishnu —a man of profound piety, free from both pretension and weakness. His learning and wealth, which could easily have stirred pride or vanity, did nothing to diminish his many virtues. Destiny had blessed him with seven sons, all of whom would become renowned. A few years earlier, Jagannath's strong intellectual inclination had driven him to leave his native village, Dakha Dakshin —a hamlet in the Srihatta district (now Sylhet, in Bangladesh)— to settle in Nadia, on the banks of the Ganges, and earn a living as a teacher. This city was a renowned center of scholarship, celebrated for producing the finest teachers of thought. Eager to refine his knowledge, he studied under the guidance of the noble and prosperous Nilambar Chakravarti. Like his father before him, he earned the honorary title of Mishra.

Although he was poor, his teacher, who held him in high esteem, offered him the hand of his daughter, Sachidevi, who was sought after by many suitors.

How cruel fate can be. This couple, whose devotion is unparalleled, whose conduct is immaculate, and whose lives are steeped in the love of God, became a barren branch, struck by a curse: their married life was marked by terrible calamities. The eight daughters they bore all perished at birth. Only their courage and unwavering devotion to God allowed them to endure such hardships and hope for better days.

Human nature made them believe in the necessity of offspring —to perform the rituals on their behalf when they cross into the other world to have a son to carry on their name, a requirement deeply rooted in Vedic culture. For had they ever waded into the sacred waters of the Ganges without offering a fervent prayer for the gift of a child?

But let us be clear: not just any child. Nadia, India, the entire world gives birth to the fruits of passion, of "love," most often by "accident." Irresponsible in the context of eternity, procreators separate the sexual act from its spiritual dimension, ignore the auspicious circumstances, and engage in no meditation to bless the cherished being they are bringing into the world.

But this couple, harboring utopian hopes, does not wish for offspring who will become a burden to the earth. Jagannath and Sachidevi pray to be graced with a... divine being! That is their secret longing. They take Krishna’s words in the Bhagavad-gita literally: "I am the procreative act that does not transgress the principles of religion," and they hold onto this belief with unwavering conviction. Little Dhruva was so convinced in his innocence that Lord Vishnu appeared before him. Innocence, perhaps, but it led him, at the age of seven, into the jungle, where he performed penances that shook the earth. Were not the five Pandavas born of gods? Yudhisthira, of justice; Bhima, of the wind; Arjuna, of the king of the heavens, and so on? Did not Sita, the wife of Rama, emerge from a casket, discovered while her father, an illustrious sovereign, was plowing a field under the guidance of priests, having successfully performed a sacrifice to obtain the offspring he had long desired?

As for Jagannath and Sachidevi, they are prepared to make the greatest sacrifices, to offer the greatest proofs of love. They have the strength and the courage. Let them be put to the test!

Sitting in contemplation before the flowing waters of the Ganges, Sachidevi weeps silently. Perhaps she is praying to the goddess Ganga to bless her? In her humility, veiled by divine illusion, she does not see that her own tears are worth a thousand times more than these waters; she does not see the goddess herself, who, with her waves, seeks to touch the feet of this immortal couple to purify herself.

Let us make this clear. 

Chapter 2: The Ganges